


The bed is a little bigger now

by Roxie Ann (pluvial_poetry)



Series: everything nice [1]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Kid Fic, M/M, Sickfic, mildly sappy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-21
Updated: 2013-03-21
Packaged: 2017-12-06 00:40:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/729694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pluvial_poetry/pseuds/Roxie%20Ann
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"I know how Eames is when he's ill." </i>
</p><p>
  <i>"No worse than he is when he's healthy."</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	The bed is a little bigger now

"The doctor prescribed Amoxicillin for the ear infection and Baby Tylenol for the fever," Arthur says into the phone. His arms full, he nudges his bedroom door open with his foot. It isn't until he's settled into the bed beside him that Eames' eyes finally crack open, bleary and febrile. "We'll be fine, you don't need to come down here."

"Is that Lovisa?" Eames demands at that, his horror mostly muffled by Arthur's pillow, which he seems to be using in place of the tissues Arthur thoughtfully left on the bedside table. "Arthur, no. Her presence will only send me into a decline. You don't want my untimely death on your head."

"If you're sure you'll be fine on your own," Lovisa is saying to Arthur, and even over the shoddy connection her disbelief is clear. "I know how Eames is when he's ill."

"No worse than he is when he's healthy," Arthur says, and it's a sign of how sick he is that Eames can only glare pitifully at him, laboriously rolling over on to his stomach to press his too warm forehead against Arthur's thigh. "I can handle things here. Why don't we Skype you tomorrow? After naptime would be best. 8 o'clock your time."

He eventually gets Lovisa off the phone, with promises to let her know if he needs anything, and a few more reassurances that he knows what he's doing. 

"How do I always get stuck talking down your ex-wife?" Arthur asks dryly. It's rhetorical really. Anyone who has been married to Eames knows him well enough not to be charmed by him. And it's not as if Arthur minds being seen as the lesser of two evils.

Eames pretends to think over it. "Your innate talent for mediation? Your amenable and obliging nature?" Eames hazards his guesses and laughs, the raspy sound abruptly turning into a racking cough.

Arthur frowns, resting a hand on the back of Eames' neck. It's just a cold, which would be bad enough because Eames is frankly pathetic when he's sick, and most over the counter medicine lays him out flat for the entire day. But this is worse than usual because he and Caroline are both sick at the same time.

Caroline sniffles a little against his neck, 40 pounds of 4-year old, draped over Arthur's chest and clinging. She'd been good about understanding that Daddy couldn't take care of her when he was sick, accepting of the fact that it would just be the two of them on their own today, but somehow that had translated into her being possessive and needy over Arthur's time and attention. She'll have to let go of me eventually, Arthur thinks; she won't be able to sleep in that position, and she needs the rest.

When this thing with Eames first got started Arthur never would have imagined that he'd ever have to think about stuff like that. Back when Eames first introduced him to Caro as "Daddy's Friend" and the only responsibility that came with that was looking at the occasional abstract crayon portrait of their cat, Butter, and that one time when Eames had been on a phone call to Estonia and Arthur had to get strawberry jam out of her hair. Then things had gotten serious in more ways than one, and suddenly Arthur didn't just have a lover, he had a family. 

Arthur brushes her hair out of her eyes, his hand lingering on her forehead. Every dvd player in the house seems to have _Yo Gabba Gabba_ on deck at all times; it's an easy way to distract her from her misery. She even manages a wan smile for Super Martian Robot Girl, which Arthur takes as a good sign, despite the fact that her skin is still hot to the touch.

Eames seems to have passed out again, head pillowed on Arthur's leg, Caro holding one of his hands in her own. Arthur's trapped beneath the two of them. He could probably reach his laptop bag from here but there's no way he can work like this. It's fine though, there's nothing that needs his immediate attention.

Caro is frowning now, but Brobee is in this scene, and there's a frown on his big green face too. She tends to mimic the characters' actions on screen; it's funny, that she's so much like Eames it's uncanny. Eames has a habit of doing the same thing , at the grocery store or at restaurants. Picking up facial ticks and body postures off of passing strangers; Eames hoarding them all for his magic tricks of the trade.

"Has she eaten?" Eames asks, voice gravelly. It's one of the requisite side effects of parenthood, the ability to snap out of a sound sleep at any given moment.

"Not yet." She'd woken up late from her nap, and had been fussy. He hadn't managed to talk her into anything more than some applesauce and a couple of toast triangles all day.

"Give her some soup if she'll eat it," Eames says, and he's drowsing again, mouth open and eyes closed.

"Are you hungry, Caro?" Arthur asks, wincing as one of her little elbows catches him in the ribs as she squirms around to look at him.

"Can I have a popsicle?" She bats her eyelashes at him, leaning against his chest, and tugging a little at her sore ear. It's cute, and impressively manipulative for a 4 year old, even one with con artistry in her DNA. It's almost impressive enough to let her have a popsicle if that's what she wants. But that's one of the first things Arthur had to let go of when he moved in with Eames. He's not a visitor in their lives anymore, not just a friend who pops in with candy and then gets to leave before the sugar high wears off. He's here with her all day, everyday; parenting. 

“Think of it like inception," Eames had said, during that first week after Arthur had moved in with them. And then he’d chuckled when Arthur had glared over at him. "All of us working together to grow one tiny idea. It takes a team." 

"We're a team now," Arthur had agreed readily enough then, though he'd had no idea what he was getting himself into. 

He does now. And that means--

"How about star noodle soup? And we'll bring some up for Daddy, if he's awake. I bet he'd like that," Arthur says and hopes that this won't turn into a battle of wills, with each bite of dinner a bargaining tool, the way it normally would be if she were feeling better.

Caro has a little considering frown on her face, and even after all this time it's still startling to see one of Arthur's own expressions reflected back at him in miniature. "Daddy?" she asks, giving a lingering look at Eames' sleeping face, obviously hopeful that he'll wake up and take over for Arthur. As much as she does love Arthur, Daddy is still very much her favorite. When Eames doesn't stir she gives Arthur a small nod.

"Okay," Arthur says quietly. She's looking more worn out now; it's been a long day for her and with her ear hurting, she hasn't been sleeping much. He drops a quick kiss on her messy curls. "Let's get you some dinner." 

In the kitchen, Arthur manages to heat up and dish out soup one-handed and then thankfully Caro lets him sit her down at the table to eat, her legs swinging listlessly as he helps her catch noodles on her spoon. Eames rouses himself enough for a goodnight snuggle and kiss with Caroline by the time they head back upstairs around 7:30. When Arthur checks on him again after bath time and the half of a Dr. Seuss book he managed to read before Caro fell asleep, Eames doesn't look that much more aware than he had an hour earlier, but at least his eyes are open.

"How's my girl?" Eames croaks out, Arthur stripping down to his underwear for bed, shivering slightly with the chill in the air. 

"Fever's down. She doesn't seem to be rubbing the ear as much," Arthur says, humming with satisfaction as he crawls into the warm pocket under the duvet, sliding himself in full-body against Eames. Caro had seemed fine to be on her own when Arthur put her to bed. And he knows the walls of their house are thin enough that he'll be able to hear her in the night if she needs him.

"Thanks for that, but I meant you," Eames smirks. How he manages to look that good when he hasn't showered, and his skin is clammy and pink with fever, Arthur can't even begin to know. 

Arthur rolls his eyes. "I'm fine, Eames. Not even a sniffle."

"One of the many things I love about you; your scarily efficient immune system," Eames says fondly, cuddling close together. Arthur risks the germs to press a kiss to that mouth. His immune system would have to deal with it.

"You should go back to sleep," Arthur says softly, rubbing his hand over Eames' scalp.

Eames makes a soft, encouraging sound, looking up at Arthur through his eyelashes. "I'm afraid I'm up for the night. Unless you can think of something that will tire me out," he says hopefully, with the ghost of his usual innuendo. 

Even as something inside of Arthur jumps in anticipation as Eames mouth brushes against the skin of Arthur's neck, he wrinkles his noise doubtfully. "More cough syrup maybe." Eames isn't being serious, Arthur knows. They're both exhausted and in this state, Eames is not up for anything remotely strenuous. It is a shame, though, he thinks with real longing. 

"Not quite what I was thinking, but it will do the job." Eames gives in easily enough, a sure sign that he's still beat, even as he sighs in reluctance when Arthur snags the Benylin off of the bedside table, measuring out a dose for him. Eames downs it like a shot, looking over at Arthur then with a warm smile. "Have I mentioned yet that I adore you?"

"Several times. Usually after the drugs have kicked in," Arthur says, placing the Beylin bottle to the side. He drags Eames over to his side of the bed, letting Eames' heavy weight settle over him with a grunt of pleasure. 

"Honestly," Eames murmurs in his ear. "You were fantastic today."

"It was a team effort," Arthur says. And then, "Go to sleep, Eames."


End file.
